


Unholy Communion

by AngerProbFemme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Dean/Cas Flip Fest, Demon Castiel, F/M, I'm Going to Hell, M/M, Past Abuse, Priest Dean Winchester, Priest Kink, Sassy Castiel, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, dcff18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 13:02:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14770125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngerProbFemme/pseuds/AngerProbFemme
Summary: Dean Winchester, the towns Catholic priest, has a dark past that has caught up with his family.  He blames himself for his brother being on the brink of death.  In a desperate last attempt to right his wrongs, he sells his soul.  What he doesn't know is the demon who comes for him after 10 years isn't coming to pull him to hell.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to my amazing artist, thedogsled and my lifesaving beta, lotrspnfangirl! This was a very up and down project and had it not been for these two, it wouldn't have happened!
> 
> If you are easily offended by negative views toward the Catholic church or sacrilegious material, this fic is not for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tracks: 
> 
> Paint it Black- Ciara (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RYPWxymohWs)
> 
> Metallica: Until it Sleeps (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7JVcbVeMnt8)

 

Dean watched numbly as his congregation filed out of the nave.  Full, happy smiles and hand shaking to ease their souls as they make their way out into the world to sin some more, only to have it washed clean each Sunday.  

 

Dean chuckled to himself.  If only it was that easy. Part of Dean's pessimism came from the blatant reality of life, the other part was jealousy.  Dean was envious of the ease of these people's lives; they never had to suffer as he and his family. How would he know? Well, he was privy to every member of his congregation’s confessions, smack dab in the middle of everyone’s drama.

 

The biggest _hardship_ anyone in town had ever gone through was Mr. Miller's son. Seth had been forced out of the closet and while Mr. Miller had tried to keep it quiet, the parents of the young man Seth was caught with were not so.  Seth was immediately brought before Dean to be healed of his perversion. Dean had explained that it didn’t work that way, but Mr. Miller insisted because it had worked on Dean. It took every ounce of Dean’s self control not to punch his face in.  Dean told them to pray on it and walked away.

 

He walked away from a kid who had needed him, but he wasn’t going to lie to him either.  Just like he’d walked away from his brother...

 

Dean gathered his sermon from the pulpit, tapping it a few times on the wooden surface before turning and walking through the transept, down the private hallway leading to his office.  He let Benny bid farewell to the “good” people of his church; he’d given his last sermon today and he just didn’t have it in him to look them in the eyes knowing how full of shit he was.  

 

He walked down the hallway, it seemed, in slow motion.  Sounds were a distant humming, lights were blurred shapes, his mind a murky cesspool of bitter hate and regret.  Just below the surface of the consciousness he allowed himself, an explosion of fear and sorrow waited to bubble free and expose him for who he really was.

 

He let the ornate, wooden doors fall closed behind him, the resulting bang making him jump.  

 

_“Jesus!”_

 

He gripped his chest and tried to calm his breathing. Then, leaning against his entirely too large desk, he felt a giggle rise.  He released it with a chuckle, but it didn’t stop. The flow of laughter continued until Dean was fully bent over, his shoulders shaking from the effects. After a few moments, he regained composure and stood upright, running both hands roughly up and down his face.  A frustrated growl followed. “Come on, Winchester, get your shit together!”

 

He had every right to be terrified.  He heard the first howl yesterday and every hour they grew in volume.  It wasn’t like he hadn’t known they were coming. He’d marked in bright red marker on his calendar.  Normal people have birthdays written, but not him. He always had to be unconventional.

 

He’d tried to ignore it and just live his life, but always there in the back of his mind, Castiel taunted him.  There was no escaping him or the reminder of what today would bring. Every night since Sam’s recovery, he would wake covered in sweat, red eyes lingering in the dark of his room.  But worse yet, not every dream was a nightmare. Many had his blood pumping and body covered in sweat for reasons fear did not evoke. That is when the pure, unadulterated hate began.  Dean was already tortured by the desire Castiel evoked in him that night and every day he fought hard to retrieve his pure state of mind, every pulse of pleasure along his length ushered images of Castiel. Just when he felt he could relax, another dream would pull him back to the path of sexual deviancy.  

 

He couldn't escape.  He couldn’t be content with distant awareness of his crime.  No, somehow he had to be reminded of it every day along with his past sins.  He saw the clock tick closer and instead of chimes, he was gifted the terror inducing howls of the hellhounds.

 

All he wanted,  was to spend as much of his remaining time with his brother as he could. Yet, he couldn’t even do that.  Dean had to live with the second hand joy of his brother’s beautiful family. Castiel could try all he wanted to break Dean, but Sam… even Sam at a distance was all the clarity he needed.

 

His phone started buzzing in his pocket.  He cleared his voice and answered.

 

“Sammy!  How is it going?  We still on for tonight?”

 

“Hey, Dean, and of course.  Eileen just wanted to know what to bring?”

 

Dean flopped into the vintage chair, complete with the world's thinnest padding.  “Don’t you dare. I have everything covered. All she needs to bring is you and my nieces.”

 

“Okay man.  This came out of nowhere though...  Is everything--”

 

“I’ll see ya in an hour.”

 

“--Okay…  Bye Dean.”

 

Dean ended the call with a tap of his finger.  He needed this last moment of happiness. He needed to feel it and soak it in.  He took a deep breath and grabbed his keys from their drawer. One dinner wouldn't make up for a lifetime of bullshit, but it was the last thing he could do.

 

\---------

 

Bobby had everything laid out beautifully.  The stained plastic table he pulled from storage was covered in a white and red checkered cloth.  An assortment of different colored bowls were scattered across the table, holding a variety of picnic appropriate food. Right in the middle, a huge glass pitcher of sweet tea complete with a lemon floating, was set.  A smattering of sunshine drifted through the trees, casting a rainbow of colors along the table. It was a charming layout that was accompanied by a beautiful sunny day with a light breeze. A small smile played on his lips.  Sam would love it.

 

Dean had picked a secluded part of Lake Martin, right by the water. Willow trees hung over the bank and tickled the surface of the water as birds sang in the moss covered oaks above.  No one would bother them here. He wished he’d had the forethought to come here by himself and just relax in the tranquil song of life around him.

 

It was the perfect day he didn't deserve, for an ending he did.

 

Sam and his family arrived forty-five minutes later.  Sam’s two daughters, Moira and Mary, tackled Dean to the ground in a fit of giggles, Dean included. Only after mock desperation and a request to stand did the girls relent.

 

“How are my girls?” Dean brushed grass from his pants’ legs.

 

“Uncle Dean, is there watermelon?” Moira, the older of the two, asked.

 

“Well of course, it can't be a picnic without watermelon!”

 

“Did you take the seeds out? Daddy said if I swallowed the seeds, a watermelon would grow in my tummy! I don't want to explode.” Mary, only four, was shy and nervous about everything.  He didn’t blame her. Dean wanted to roll his eyes at his brother for using one of John’s old jokes.

 

“I remembered sweetheart.   _NO_ seeds.” Dean blinked when Mary smiled in relief.  “Why don’t you girls go pick out your poles and start fishing?  We gotta eat something other than potato salad.”

 

“Ewww! I don’t want to eat fish!” both girls squealed.

 

“I’m joking!  Go on!” Dean waved them away.

 

His nieces ran toward the bank, matching yellow fishing poles already resting against a willow.

 

 _“You didn't have to do that, Dean,”_ Sam’s hands signed what he said in tandem with his voice.

 

Dean waved Sam off.   _“I wanted to. I love ‘em,”_  Dean signed back. “C’mere.” Dean engulfed his younger brother in a hug that might’ve been tighter than normal.  Dean missed the look of concern that played across Sam’s face.

 

“Dean…”

 

He pat his brother on the back with a thud and separated, taking care not to look him in the eyes.  

  
 _“Eileen! Beautiful as always.”_ Dean smiled and signed before giving her a swift hug.  He squeezed her shoulders gently as he backed away. _“How are you feeling?”_ Dean signed before motioning to her round belly.

 

_“We are just fine.”_

 

He was so thankful for Eileen.

 

_“So, Bobby is getting the charcoal from the truck and then we’ll fire this baby up!”_

 

Dean pulled the camping chairs out from underneath the picnic table and made a semi-circle facing the water.  Just as promised, Bobby came back lugging a huge bag of charcoal, muttering curses under his breath. They didn’t last long however, as soon as Bobby spotted Sam, an old light sparked in his eye and the taller Winchester was pulled into another hug.  

 

As the charcoal heated, the adults, minus one, sat with an ice cold beer, smiles on their faces and laughter bouncing off of the water.  It was almost surreal. It was like he was in a photograph taken fifteen years ago, but instead of John, Eileen was on the other side of Sam.  Everything would’ve been different if John hadn’t been in the picture to begin with...

 

Dean swallowed down the bitterness threatening to dampen the lighthearted mood.  It was so difficult to remember past happiness without including John, whom was inherently negative and thus brought painful memories to the surface.  He could deal with the crap his dad put on him. He could deal with his own bullshit. But remembering his father hugging Ruby just… The hypocrisy was ludacris.    

 

“Dean!”

 

He snapped his head up, the past disappearing as concerned faces greeted him.  He took a sip of his beer and shrugged. _“Sorry, daydreaming.”_

 

Eileen signed, “ _Must have been a bad daydream.  You looked like you either wanted to cry or punch something.”_

 

He laughed and signed, “ _Or someone.”_  He bounced his eyebrows and the laughter continued.  

 

The girls caught a grand total of one fish, the size of Dean's thumb.  Regardless, congratulations were given and the girls were very proud of themselves.  By the end of the evening, Dean's cheeks hurt from smiling so much. He built a small fire and everyone roasted s’mores; naturally the girls got chocolate and sticky marshmallow all over themselves.  Eileen fussed, but Sam and Dean laughed.

 

 _“You aren’t the ones who are going to have to get this out of their hair!”_ she signed.

 

 _“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!  I’ll help, I promise.”_  Sam winked.

 

She stuck her tongue out but returned his wink. _“I’m going to put them in the car.  Dean, thank you for a wonderful evening.  Please don’t be a stranger, lets do this again.”_  Eileen's smile and request were so genuine, Dean had to swallow the lump in his throat before responding.  

 

_“Of course.”_

 

Dean gave each girl a kiss on the head and a hug that he put all of his love into.

 

“Can’t… Breathe… Uncle… Dean…”  

 

The girls giggled when he released them.  He ruffled their sticky hair. “I love you girls.  Be good.”

 

His nieces ran to the car waving behind them.

 

Bobby raised an eyebrow at Dean.  “I’ll see ya tomorrow, Son. Right?”

 

“Yup,” was all he could say.

 

Bobby nodded before walking over to where Eileen was loading up the girls, their cries of dissent muted in the distance.  Alone, the brothers stood there awkwardly, Dean's hands in his pockets and Sam rocking back on his heels.

 

Sam’s car rumbled to life, an apparent trigger.  Sam ran his hand through his hair.

 

“Dean, what’s going on?”

 

“What?”

 

“I mean, this was great.  It was almost too good to be true.”

 

“Oh, come on, Sam…”

 

“You haven’t spent this much time with us in years.  I was seriously starting to wonder if I’d done something wrong or if you were angry with us for some reason.”

 

“No, Sam, I’m not angry at you.”  Dean sighed, suddenly tired.

 

“Dean, this doesn’t feel like a reunion,” Sam whispered, clearing his throat before adding, “It feels like a goodbye.”

 

Dean’s blood ran cold as an ear splitting howl filled the clearing.  The bushes beside the camp site started to rustle on all sides.

 

He was out of time.

 

Heart beating rapidly, he closed the distance between them and squeezed his brother as tight as his muscles would allow.  His eyes burned in warning of tears threatening to fall.

 

“I’m so sorry Sam.”

 

Sam tried to pull away.  “Dean...”

 

“I’m so sorry for what I put you through.  You shouldn’t have had to see any of that! I should have protected you from Dad better, should have protected you from her!  I’m sorry we never caught her!”

 

Dean's shoulders ached as his brother gripped them painfully tight and pushed him away.  Sam’s face was drawn tight in worry.

 

“Dean, you have nothing to be sorry about.”

 

Dean blanched.

 

Sam continued, “What do you mean put _me_ through?  The gay thing?  The drug thing? I don’t care that you’re gay.  If anyone should apologize, it’s Dad and me. Dean, you never did anything wrong.  Have you blamed yourself--?”

 

“What do you mean I didn’t do anything wrong!?  I overdosed on heroin, Sam! You saw that!” Dean shouted.  This wasn’t right, Sam shouldn’t be saying these things.

 

“No… I never saw that.”  The concern turned into grief.  “But I did see Dad send you away.  I know what they did to you at that camp…”

 

“Stop.”

 

“No, Dean, you stop!”  Dean looked away

 

Heavy silence filled the air before Sam continued. “I get it now, the distance.  Dean, I made my own choices.”

 

“So did I...”  Dean looked up, determination in his eyes.  He wasn’t going to turn this back on his brother.  This was on him, he just wanted to clear the air.

 

“You know, it breaks my heart that Dad ruined everything for you.”

 

“He didn’t.  I got the church.”

 

“I don’t know why you still defend him!  You know what I’m talking about. I wish you would have found someone...  I want to see you happy like me.”

 

A bitter smile graced Dean's lips.  Oh, he found someone alright. “I’m plenty happy seeing you in this life.”

 

“Dean, I’m so sorry.”

 

“Me too.”

 

Sam paused and smirked.  “You know, they told me I was supposed to die.  The doctors literally have no idea how I came back.”

 

“I know, I was there.”

 

“Somehow I think you did it.  I don’t know how… but thank you.”

 

“Prayer is a helluva thing.  You never know who’s listening.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tracks:
> 
> Soundgarden- Fell on Black Days (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JiaZDQjsbuw)
> 
> Red- Darkest Part (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7KzK-1M3QjE)

Ten Years Ago

 

Dean jolted awake, the shrill ringing making his head pound and heart race. Dean turned the light on and fumbled for his phone, sliding the front up and quieting the obnoxious sound.

“Hello?”

“Dean, they found him.” The gruff voice of his godfather delivering the message he’d been waiting on for weeks woke him immediately. 

“Where?”

“Why does it matter wh-”

“Where!” Dean screamed into the phone.

“The docks.”

“Shit…” Dean grit his teeth and ran his hand through his hair. “Did they find that bitch?”

“Dean, careful…”

“Bobby, don’t you tell me--”

“No!” Bobby cleared his voice and Dean heard him take a deep breath,. “They didn’t.”

Dean couldn’t say anything. He held the phone in a death grip, willing himself not to shatter it against a wall. 

“Dean,” Bobby continued, his voice somber, “you need to get here quick.”

Dean’s stomach dropped and he swallowed back a sob. “Okay.” 

He hung up and stood, all but sprinting through his office in an attempt to find his wallet and keys. He’d fallen asleep on the couch in his office for the third time that week; just as every other time, he woke up in his black pants and black collared shirt. He haphazardly tied his shoes and rushed to the door, pausing before walking out. 

If he put it on… he wouldn’t just be there as a brother... It was like a magnet pulling him back. With a growl and a punch to the door, he turned back to his desk and grabbed the plastic clerical collar, sliding it into place.

The weight around his neck felt heavier than usual. It was always a pleasant reminder of how far he’d come, but now, it was a reminder of what he was going to have to do to his own brother. He knew it wasn’t, but the collar felt like a snake constricting his throat. He willed himself to breathe slowly, to not panic.

His will wasn’t strong enough. It never had been. Dean fell to his knees on the red carpet of his office and let himself fall apart.

He stayed on the floor for an hour before he gathered the courage to walk out. He pushed himself, step by step, then forced himself to get into his beloved car. Taking a deep breath, he turned the key and the ‘67 Impala roared to life. 

I don’t want to get in the car. 

I have to drive.

But I don’t want to go.

But I have to be there.

I don't want to see it!

I don't want to see him…

I did this to him.

I have to face it.

I have to fix it.

“God dammit!” Dean screamed and punched the steering wheel, over and over until the flesh covering his knuckles started to rip. He cursed and stopped the assault. Laying his head against the wheel, he asked God to give him strength. Chest still heaving, he put the car in reverse and squealed tires out of the parking lot of Most Pure Heart of Mary Catholic Church.

He’d never driven so fast. He felt guilty because he was putting others in danger, but told himself it was so early in the morning that no one would be out this hour. It only took him twenty minutes when it usually took fifty. 

Actually seeing the hospital, seeing Bobby’s beat-to-shit truck parked in the lot, made it terrifyingly real. It wasn’t just a phone call and scenarios running through his head. No, this was it. He was here to watch his brother die. His little brother, who’d been missing for three months, was in that hospital. His little brother, who watched Dean himself fight the same battle, was dying from what Dean should’ve died from instead. 

His adrenaline spiked as he made his way across the pavement into the main lobby. His feet carried him faster and faster, past the sliding doors and up to the reception desk. Missouri Moseley sat at the desk this morning, looking like she’d been ready to go home hours ago. She’d been his saving grace when he started doing last rights. She looked up from her paperwork as he made his way down the hall at a jog.

“Oh sugar, I’m so sor--”

“What room?” he demanded.

Missoury blanched. “520.”

He could feel her eyes on his back has he ran past the desk into another hall before climbing the stairs. He ignored the burning in his legs and lungs as he sprinted up all five floors. At the top, he stopped and leaned over, bracing himself on his knees. 

He hated this floor. 

It was a small hospital, in a small town, and he knew this was the floor where they kept the lost causes. Patients were on suicide watch, were drug addicts, or were criminal. This was a floor that did horrible things to your heart and mind. Dean had been up here many times, but he never thought it would be for Sammy.... 

He stood at a T. He turned right, following the placard stating ROOMS 511-520. He kept his pace slow, not wanting to startle anyone. The fluorescent lights flickered above him and incoherent babbling sounded from the second room on the right. The door was left open and as he passed, he saw a frail man sitting in a wheelchair. His arms and legs were bound, but every other part of his body was moving. He flailed his body forward, backward, side to side. Greasy strands of long hair moved with him. If the man kept this up, he would snap his own neck. Dean could see the sharp bones of his spine protruding from grey-toned flesh down his back.

Dean's stomach rolled. Not at what he was seeing, but at what he couldn’t do. He’d been told all his life that God had a plan for everyone, that everything happened for a reason. But as Dean stared at this broken human being, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what reason God had for making this man suffer. 

A chill ran up Dean's spine and he turned his head instinctively to the left. At the very end of the hall sat a security guard, the man staring straight at him and newspaper he was holding in front of him completely ignored. The flailing man's screams withered away, turning into white noise in the back of his mind. The end of the hall was shroud in shadow until the overhead light flickered on. 

The man never broke eye contact with him and Dean couldn’t break away from his gaze. He was beautiful, inhumanly so. His heart skipped a beat as a painful memory tried to crawl out of the box Dean had locked them in. 

His breath started to come faster and he licked his drying lips. The man at the end of the hall mirrored him. Dean turned his body to face him and the man rose from his seat, doing the same. His head felt heavy, full of static. The only sounds he heard were the sharp buzzes that burst from the broken lights above and any and all noises the man in front of him made. Dean could hear him breathing, could hear the dark cotton pants and shirt brush against his arms and legs with each step he took toward Dean. 

The light went out.

The light came on. 

Dean gasped as the man had moved five yards.

The light went out.

Dean swallowed heavily, a feeling of dread sitting side by side with euphoric dizziness.

The light came on. 

He was even closer. Dean could see the blue of his eyes, the dark scruff outlining his jaw. Those eyes, they were almost glowing. Such a perfect blue. So deep, Dean could drown…

The light went off.

There was a flash of red only a few feet away. Heat washed over his body, a heat he hadn’t let himself feel in many years. Dean let a moan travel up his chest and past his throat, only biting it off as it touched his lips. 

The light came on.

The angel stood right before him, his blue eyes piercing Dean's very soul. It took his breath away.

They regarded each other as alien sensations washed over Dean's body and through his head. Every instinct he had was warning him to run, to avert his eyes, as if frightened of a predator. The man in front of him grinned crookedly, his handsome face becoming mischievous, almost boyish. Those instincts could go and fuck themselves. This man… he needed… he didn’t know.

Dean felt a caress on his hand. He tore his eyes from the captiving man and saw that a single finger was running up his arm. That tiny little finger was leaving sparks behind in its wake. Dean sighed deeply as he felt a fire inside him ignite, burning hotter with every inch his finger advanced. One finger turned into knuckles, and by the time the man reached Dean's neck, he held Dean's face in his hand.

Dean relaxed into the touch, the man’s crooked grin now a full smile. Dean’s eyes felt heavy, his legs were shaking. He only had the will to do whatever this man wanted. He wanted to throw his collar to the floor and undress right in that hall. The man ran his thumb over Dean's plump bottom lip and Dean chased it with his tongue. The man chuckled. Dean never thought a laugh could be arousing, but that deep baritone slid over him like silk. Dean wanted to get on hands and knees. Dean wanted to do whatever the man wanted.

The warmth of the angel’s hands started to move back down his neck, and the man’s eyes flicked downward, his fingers stopping at Dean's stiff collar. Dean would gladly remove it. The angel smiled as if Dean had said that out loud, then his hand continued downward and rested on Dean's chest. Why did he stop there? Dean wanted him to keep going. He wanted him to keep going so badly, he started to raise his own hand to help guide the man.

The man smiled, only it was different. His blue eyes looked up through his dark lashes, grin looking crazed, almost feral. Dean made a move to back up but the man's other hand gripped the back of Dean's neck, holding him in place. 

A jolt of fear shot through his chest right before the man's hand did.

Unfathomable pain echoed through his body and his screams ripped his vocal cords. A pressure that shouldn’t exist sat heavy in his chest, the epicenter of the agony. Dean felt his legs lose strength and buckle, only Dean didn’t fall. The man held Dean upright, his forearm disappearing into the center of Dean's body. Dean’s blood ran the length of his arm, dripping steadily from his elbow. 

“Why!”

The man didn’t respond. Everything was silent except for the little tap, tap, taps of blood hitting the floor. 

The man's eyes turned blood red. With a sneer and a heavy, deep voice, he said, “Mine.”

Dean’s knees exploded with pain as he fell and leaned forward, gasping for air. 

He sat back with a jolt and felt around his chest. 

Nothing.

He looked around. The room adjacent to him was empty, there was no security guard, and the hallway was brightly lit.

He heard heavy foot falls running toward him and lifted his heavy head to see Bobby standing above him. Bobby’s lips were moving, but nothing was coming out. Dean felt drunk and he wanted to giggle as Bobby started becoming two Bobby’s. He kept mouthing one word.

Bru

Bruth

BROTHER! 

Dean grabbed Bobby’s hands and pulled himself up, reality crashing into him. So much noise, Dean wanted to cover his ears.

“I hear you Bobby! Get out of my ass!”

“Watch it boy. What am I supposed to think, seeing you pale as a ghost and on your knees in the hallway? This ain’t no place to pray.”

There was no way Dean could explain what had just happened. Only… nothing had happened. But it had been so real... He’d felt everything and the ghost of pressure lay like a stone behind his sternum. 

Anxiety. Yes. That was it. It made sense. It was just a panic attack… that caused him to hallucinate…? 

Dean shook his head. “Whatever, just take me to him please.” He brushed past Bobby.

“Dean.” 

“What!” he screamed, turning around. If one more person tried to stop him from walking down this hallway…

Bobby looked at him with shocked, wide eyes. “Here…” 

Dean’s anger fizzled away to guilt, then instantly into fear as he saw what Bobby was holding. 

His collar.

Dean brought his fingers to his throat and felt pliable fabric. Dread moved in permanently as he snatched the collar from Bobby's hand and stalked down the hall. He stopped just outside of Sam’s room and stared at the place the guard should’ve been sitting.

“Was there a guard here?” Dean asked without taking his eyes from the spot.

“Not yet. There is one coming at shift change in…” Bobby looked at his watch, “three hours. Until then security is extra tight downstairs.”

Dean nodded and tore his eyes away. He was ready to walk into the room, but he couldn’t make his legs move. 

“Bobby…” Dean said around a knot in his throat.

“I know son. We have to be strong for him,” Bobby replied, squeezing Dean's shoulder with a rough hand. 

Dean scoffed and walked in, wretching his shoulder from Bobby’s comforting grip. 

Blessedly there was curtain around Sam’s bed.

He heard the beeping from the machines and the loud flow of air. The smell of antiseptic was heavy in here, and with each inhale of breath, the scent took him back to each withered up body he had to bless before they all inevitably went to hell.

The damaged skin of his hands burned as it pulled tight along his knuckles where he gripped the curtain. Dean took a deep breath and pulled the fabric along its track, the scratching of its movement grating on already raw nerves. 

Every emotion he had held in for three months… every emotion he tried to hold in on the way here… every emotion he felt in that hallucination, all of them bubbled up from the deepest recess of his gut. He choked on the sobs as they tumbled from his throat. 

He put his hands over his eyes to try and erase what he’d just seen. 

His brother. His baby brother. Sweet, smart, naive Sam lay still as the death that threatened him. Dean barely recognized him. He was so thin it looked like he hadn’t eaten more than a cracker for the three months he was missing. Dry, grey skin was pulled tight over every bone. His face was gaunt, cheekbones standing out and his eyes so sunken in from dehydration that with the right lighting, he could already pass as a skeleton. What Dean could see of his body just emphasized that. The hospital gown appeared draped over him, despite being tied as tight as it would go. His collar bones were bridges across his chest, his forearms were twigs that looked like they couldn’t even support the alien looking hands resting still alongside his body. 

His hair matched his skin, lank and muted in color. It was so dirty, grease weighing it down, that Dean was sure that if he attempted to comb it, the handle of the brush would break. 

If that wasn’t enough to tear Dean's heart to shreds, Sam’s arms made him sick. Track marks and infected holes littered the insides of both his brother’s arms. There were so many… Bile followed quickly after the sobs. Dean rushed to the sink in just enough time to throw up the small amount of food he’d been able to eat yesterday. 

It didn’t take much before there was nothing left in his stomach. He took deep, ragged breaths after each dry heave. His eyes were bloodshot and he didn’t know if his tears were from puking or seeing Sam in such a state. 

He felt Bobby behind him, a towel being pushed into his peripheral, and he grabbed for it. He wiped the dripping sick from his chin. 

Bobby said he needed to be strong for Sam, but Dean had no strength left. He ached with exhaustion that sunk all the way to his bones, and he felt not only responsible, but useless. He wanted to go dig a hole right next to where they would bury his baby brother and jump in. 

Dean walked clumsily to the side of Sam’s bed and collapsed into the chair Bobby had been occupying. There were so many tubes piercing his brother... he felt despair replace every other emotion. 

There was a knock at the door. Dean looked up to see Dr. Mills standing in the doorway, looking just as much like shit as Missouri had.

“Tell me something good Jody.” Dean's voice was rough and tired.

“I can’t do that Fath--”

“Don’t. Not here. Please.”

Jody sighed. “I can’t do that, Dean.”

Dean let his head fall back and concentrated on each individual puncture in the ceiling tiles. He couldn’t look at anyone. “And why is that?” he asked after a moment. 

“The heroin he was using was laced with fentanyl.”

Jody stopped as if he knew what the hell she was talking about.

“I don’t kno--”

“He stopped breathing.”

The room was quiet as everyone processed her words. He stopped breathing. He died….

“First responders used Narcan, but he’d gone without oxygen in his blood for too long. Even if he wakes up, the damage is probably irreparable. We have him on a ventilator and made him as comfortable as possible.”

Dean stood abruptly and threw the towel covered in his vomit across the room. “What does all of that mean, Jody?”

She stood stock still and closed her eyes. “It means he is going to die as soon as I unplug that machine.”

“Well don’t unplug it!” he screamed. 

“It doesn’t work that way, Dean.”

“YES IT DOES! If you don’t unplug it, he will live! He will be right here and I can wait for him to wake up!” Dean’s voice broke and he clenched his fists at his side. “Don’t make me do this!” 

He sounded hysterical, even to himself.

“Dean, he won’t wake up.”

“Yes he will! Just wai--”

“He’s already dead, Dean!” Jody fired back.

Dean fell back into the chair as if she punched him.

“Dean, there is no brain activity. Let him go.”

Dean could see, but he saw nothing. Everything was just a haze in front of him, only blurry outlines of things that he should’ve noticed in the room. His mind floated off, trying to block the approaching darkness of Jody’s words.

“I'll give you as much time as I can. As shitty as it is, there is a time limit. I don’t want this to hurt you more than it has... I'm so sorry Father.”

He brought his legs up and hugged his knees, watching as she left the room. Bobby stayed; Dean could sense him more than see him. Dean needed him to leave and he hated himself for wanting that. He laid his head against his knees, hiding as best as he could. 

“Dean...” Bobby tried to start but Dean cut him off.

“Please leave.” 

“Fine,” Bobby sighed.

Dean heard his boots retreating, stopping at the door. The distance seemed appropriate. “I want my chance to say goodbye. Don’t you dare do anything until I can do that.”

Bobby left without letting Dean respond. Dean didn’t have anything to say.

He was left alone in silence with his dead brother.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Track: 
> 
> R.E.M.- Losing my religions  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u036M7p6-ak
> 
> Hurricane- 30 Seconds to Mars (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mdJDPepGOAM)

 

 

 

 

 

He didn’t know how long he sat there, adrift in a mindless current of random thoughts too unimportant to pause for.  He was numb.

 

No nurses came to check on Sam.  Why would they? A machine was keeping him alive, forcing him to keep breathing...

 

The silence was unnerving.  Sam was such a chatter box, full of mundane facts and always excited to tell you anything and everything.  

 

“Why, Sammy?”  Dean's asked into his knees.  Feeling stupid, he raised his head to look at his brother.  “Why didn’t you listen to me? She was bad news. I _told_ you she was.  I knew so many people like her...  She never loved you and you always thought I was being an asshole.  Well look at you now! You stupid, stupid boy!” Dean let his voice steadily raise, letting all his anger out.  

 

He was letting his anger out on a corpse.

 

Dean let his legs drop to the floor, blood rushing down and making them tingle.  He covered his face with his hands to hide the tears that threatened to fall. “It’s all my fault.  It’s all my fault.” He let himself cry. He let himself believe no one could see him.

“You had to see all my stupidity.  You had to see my bullshit. I had to drag you into it.  I’m so sorry, Sam.”

 

Dean leaned back and took a deep, shaky breath.  He wiped the tears and snot from his face, grimacing at the obscene amount.  

 

“You don’t deserve this Sam.”

 

There was no greater plan for Sam.  There was no reason God put Sam in this hospital bed.  Dean had devoted himself to the church, he had never asked for anything except for this, and his prayers went unanswered.

 

The expanding void of sorrow in his chest started to boil into fury.  He put his trust in God and prayer, but they betrayed him. Sam was one of the good, pure people.  God was supposed to protect him, not kill him! If Dean had that kind of power...

 

He suddenly realized he would do anything to save his brother.  He would do something unspeakable. Why shouldn’t he..?

 

“God damn you!” Dean pulled at his hair and let himself wail out the curse.

 

“Tell him how you really feel.”

 

Dean froze, bent over in his chair. That voice...

 

“Nothing to say?  You sure were vocal just a second ago.”

 

Dean let his hands fall away and slowly raised his head, terrified of what he would see standing in the doorway.  Dean heard something crunch and obnoxious smacking. He was eating?

 

Pure unadulterated terror washed over him.

 

“No, you aren’t real.  You are a hallucination brought on by anxiety.”

 

Right there in the doorway was the man, no _creature,_ that toyed with him in the hallway.  He never needed anti-anxiety medication before, but now seemed like an appropriate time to start taking them.  These hallucinations weren’t healthy.

 

The man leaned casually against the doorframe, munching on a bright red apple.  His right leg was bent and resting against the wall under him. He was the poster child for relaxed and unconcerned, the complete opposite of Dean.  Maybe his imaginary creature friend had a Xanax...

 

“Oh no, Dean, I am very real.”

 

“It isn’t possible.  I would be dead.”

 

“If I willed it, yes you would be.”

 

“Are you an angel?  Are you here to punish me?”

 

The man outright laughed and pushed himself off the door jamb.  He casually walked further into the room and stood on the other side of the bed, instantly putting Dean on edge.  He didn’t like the man's close proximity to Sam.

 

“I am no angel.”  The man grinned and demonic red washed over his beautiful blue eyes.

 

Dean jolted back in his seat and crossed himself.

 

“Calm down, alter boy.  That does nothing to me and let's be honest, it does nothing for you.”

 

Dean had seen these men and women in his father’s occult books.  The Catholic Church didn’t endorse the study of the occult as they used to, but they certainly didn’t condemn it either.  Dean's father engrossed himself in the clandestine studies after his mother died. To the chagrin of his brother, their father forced it on them.  John was convinced that something supernatural caused the fire that took their mother’s life, though Dean never really believed in any of it. They were fantasy monsters and all those exorcisms was sensationalism.  But, his father needed one of them for support or he would’ve gone madder than he had. That fell to Dean, and eventually so did the Church.

 

 

 

If Sam was awake he would literally shit himself.  

 

 “You’re a demon, aren’t you?”

 

The man winked, red filtering away and blue shining through once again.  

 

 _Shit…_  
  
“You leave my brother alone!  He doesn’t belong with you,” Dean snarled.

 

The man didn’t seem phased by Dean’s aggressive tone.  

 

“Castiel.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“My name is Castiel.”

 

Dean stared at him for a beat, the demon staring right back with a dopey smile on his face.

 

What the..?

 

“What do you want?”

 

“Oh, it isn’t about what _I_ want.”

 

What did that even mean?  The anger Dean had displayed earlier started to rise again quickly.  Why couldn’t this asshole just answer him? Dean felt like he was being played with.  Castiel was the bully with the magnifying glass and Dean was the ant running from the inevitable fire.

 

“Of course it’s about what you want!  You are a demon. I have studied enough about you; you take what you want.  You don’t even ask for consent before possession,” Dean growled  
  
He was done pandering to the demon’s half answers and he needed to take his anger out on something.  Trying to use the element of surprise, Dean reached into his pocket and jolted out of his seat. He charged, an iron crucifix held out in front of him.

 

He didn’t make it but five steps before his whole body froze, mid run.

 

Castiel rolled his eyes.  “And I suppose that is where a big tough priest like you comes in?  Stop being dramatic and shut up.”

 

With a flick of Castiel's wrist, Dean flew backwards into the chair he had just occupied.  The wind was knocked out of him as his chair slid back against the wall, the air conditioner stopping the chair from tipping over out the window.  With no air in his lungs, he had no choice but to shut up.

 

Castiel slowly walked towards Dean.  With each step the demon took, Dean pressed back into his seat, trying to put any amount of distance he could between himself and the predator in front of him.  He tensed and shut his eyes, waiting for the blow.  
  
He didn't know how long he sat there tensed up, but the blow never came.  Dean still had his eyes squeezed shut, his head turned away from the creature, when he heard the demon clear his throat.  
  
He peeked one eye open and saw the demon sitting cross legged at the end of Sam’s bed.  His arms didn’t bend, his knuckles stayed white, his shoulders didn’t relax, and he could think of nothing to do or say.

 

“Calm down Priest.”

 

Dean wanted to argue against the ridiculous statement, but he was still trying to regulate the oxygen coming back into his lungs.  Calm down? There is nothing that could calm him down!

 

“Oh, I am sure I have just the thing to calm you down.”

 

“Wha--”

 

Castiel tapped his own temple.  “I heard you.”

 

“I didn’t say anything…”

 

“Not outloud you didn’t.”

 

Castiel's smile expanded as understanding dawned in Dean's eyes.

 

Castiel continued. “Didn’t you say you would do **anything** to save your brother?”

 

Despite the attack he had just experienced, and the horror the demon fed his mind earlier, the fear that had been building in this demon’s presence chipped away, piece by piece with each scenario that drifted into his mind.

 

Hope?

 

Did he dare?

 

How could He?

 

The betrayal…

 

Denial.

 

It’s too good to be true. A demon wouldn’t just do this out of the kindness of his own heart...

 

“That is correct.”

 

“Get out of my head!”

 

Castiel threw his arms up in frustration.  “Then stop thinking so loud!”

 

Dean sneered and Castiel silently laughed.

 

To hell with this.  To hell with everything.  Dean was _done_.  His life had come to a spectacularly shitty header.  This started with him, and it was going to end with him, just as it should have in the first place.

 

“There is nothing you could possibly do.  He is already dead.” Dean let the familiar melancholy wash over him.

 

“Oh ye, of little faith.”

 

Dean slumped forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his head hanging in acceptance of his defeat.  “Faith has no place here. God has sealed Sam’s fate and there is nothing anyone can do about it. Once God has made his plans known, there is no changing it.  My prayers never did anything,” Dean scoffed, “I even begged! I was on my knees for forty-eight hours at a time…”

 

He let defeat take the reigns.  He didn’t care what this demon did anymore. He was just so tired.  Dean actually hoped Castiel would kill him. Maybe the demon would replay the scene in the hall.  Seemed like a fitting enough end for him.

 

“Father.”

 

Dean felt Castiel's warm fingers under his chin, but he was too numb to feel fear or apprehension.  He let the demon guide his head up and cradle his cheek in his palm, his thumb brushing soft strokes against Dean’s stubble rough jaw.  

 

“Look at me,” Castiel requested gently. This wasn't the same man that threw in him into the chair.  

 

Even raising his eyes was effort Dean didn’t want to expend.  That blue was even more stunning this close, there were so many different shades…  Dean couldn’t help but try to pick out each and every different one.

 

“Dean,”  Castiel said with authority enough to have Dean's vision refocus.  “Do you love your brother?”

 

It was a simple question, but no one had ever asked him that.  No one ever had the need to. It was obvious. Even still, his chest ached and his eyes burned.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Do you want to save him?”  Castiel’s warm voice steadied him.

 

“Yes.”

 

Such easy answers.  The gentle back and forth of Castiel's fingers against his cheek made Dean dizzy.

 

“Would you die for him?”

 

Dean stopped breathing.  

 

There it is.  

 

As shocking of a question as it was, Dean knew the answer almost immediately.  He should _already_ be dead.  It was Sam that deserved the miraculous recovery, not Dean.

 

“Yes,” Dean said holding back a sob.  

 

“Shhhh.”  Dean shut his eyes, ready to grimace, when Castiel’s lips stopped at the corner of his mouth, leaving a chaste kiss.  It was soft, innocent enough that Dean was half convinced it was another hallucination. He fell forward and Castiel embraced him.

 

Such warmth. Such comfort. Such peace.  

 

“Well then, Father Winchester, it sounds to me like you are ready to make a deal.”  Castiel sat back and the absence was jarring. The calm that had cradled Dean was pushed aside and cold reality forced itself back into every single one of Dean's cells.

 

“Deal?”

  
“Yes, Father.”

 

“Dean.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

‘My name is Dean.”

 

A knowing smile played on Castiel's lips.

 

“I like to give gifts, or rather opportunities, but those opportunities have a price.”

 

Dean took a deep breath.  He was trying his best to be patient.  “What are you saying, Castiel?”

 

“I will bring your brother back.”  Dean stopped breathing. “I’ll make sure his lungs breathe on their own and that his brain fires on all cylinders with no damage.  Your brother won’t be addicted to heroin anymore. As a matter of fact, you won’t ever have to worry about substance abuse again.”

 

Dean stood quickly and his ability to breathe returned with a loud declaration.

 

“Yes!”  

 

“Father…”

 

“Do it!”

 

“Dean…”

 

“I don’t ca--”

“Ten years!” Castiel shouted and stood up into Dean's space.

 

“Ten years, what?”

 

“Sit down and listen to me!”

 

He did so with a huff.  Castiel straightened his stolen uniform and took a measured breath.

 

“I will do as I said.  The price is your soul.”

 

“What…?”

 

Castiel tilted his head to the side.  “What confuses you? Does this honestly surprise you?”

 

“Well, I thought I--” Dean stammered.

 

He didn't know what he thought, but was kind of hoping for laundry duty or dog walking.

 

“Your soul and ten years to live.”

 

“Of course a soul isn’t good enough…”

Castiel crossed his arms.  “I need an answer Dean.”

 

Dean looked at his brother.  No, that wasn’t his brother, it was a _corpse_.  He didn’t know what the hell was laying in that bed, but Castiel could take that husk of a human being and fill it with the old Sam.  It would be a fresh start for his baby brother; Sam will get to do what he was supposed to do. Finish college, get married, have 2.5 kids...  Everything Dean threw away. Twice.

 

It was honestly a no brainer.  Ten years was plenty of time. A whole decade.  He could live with ten years.

 

“What about your soul?”  Castiel interrupted his train of thought.

 

“I lost that a long time ago.”

 

“Camp?” Castiel asked.

 

He didn’t know how Castiel had that information, but he didn’t care.  He didn’t have room to care. He already decided he would do anything he had to, and that included giving God the middle finger and cavorting with a demon.

 

“Yes.”

 

A heavy silence filled the minute distance between them, leaving Dean to wonder just how much did this demon know about him?  He could worry about that later. The need to see his brother walking around was all consuming. He was ready to put this nightmare behind him.

 

Dean cleared his throat.  “So, where do I sign?”

 

“We seal the deal with a kiss.”

 

“Oh come on…” Dean threw his hands up in the air.

 

“A kiss is where you draw the line? Really, Dean?” Castiel smirked. “It isn’t like it’s the first time.”

 

“You can wipe that filthy smile right off your face,” Dean spat, hating how his cheeks began to heat.  
  
Castiel shrugged with mock indifference. “I just find it terribly amusing that you, a priest, a man dedicated to God and who is selling his soul, is squeamish over a kiss.”

  
Dean glared daggers at the demon. “That isn’t what you find amusing, and you know it.”

 

“Well then, Father, you might as well enjoy it.”

 

Castiel licked his lips and Dean was powerless to stop his eyes from following, his own tongue mirroring the demon’s.  Dean wondered how he would taste. Would he taste like sulfur? Ash? Or would he simply taste as delicious as he looked, sin incarnate.  Dean bit his lip.

 

“See?”

 

Dean snapped his eyes away from the demon’s inviting mouth.  “Are you afraid you will like it, Dean? Are you afraid it will feel as good as it used to?”

 

“Shut up!” Dean shouted and crowded Castiel's space, gripping the collar of his uniform roughly.

 

Castiel just smiled sadistically and chuckled.  “Or are you afraid you will like it because it is me?”

 

“Fuck you!”  Dean pushed Castiel, still laughing, away from him.  “Stop laughing and lets get this bullshit over with.”

 

Castiel straightened his shirt and his laughter subsided.  “I don’t make the rules, I just follow them. There’s no harm in enjoying the process.” The demon winked.

 

“Whatever, just do it.”  

 

“Very well.  Come here.” The demon crooked his finger invitingly.

 

Dean stepped forward, and with no preamble, leaned in and pecked Castiel on the lips.  Dean avoided eye contact and backed two steps away from the demon before he flopped down in the chair.

 

The room was silent and Dean was starting to feel uneasy.  Castiel wasn’t moving, or talking. He was just standing there.  “Okay, well there ya go!” Dean motioned his arms in front of him toward Castiel.  “I did what you wanted, now fix him.”

 

“That wasn’t a kiss, Dean.”

 

“The hell it wasn’t.  My lips touched yours, that’s a kiss by definition.”

 

Castiel rolled his eyes again.  “Dean, I’m the one you are making a deal with, and I will decide what counts as a kiss.  I _am_ basically bringing someone back from the dead...”  
  
Dean gripped his hair tightly and shouted,  “Fine!” before standing and squeezing his eyes shut.  “Do what you want.” Dean pursed his lips and waited.

 

Dean felt his whole body vibrating.  He was terrified having his eyes closed around a demon.  He tried to quiet his breathing, but it was loud in his head.  His heart was a staccato beat in his chest, the pressure of it pumping behind his eyes.  His mouth was dry, his body cold. This could be solved easily if he had just taken the initiative.  He could’ve just sucked it up. He could’ve just left his eyes open and seen it coming. He just… he couldn’t look at the bastard.  He didn’t want to see the satisfaction on the demon's face or his own weakness reflected in those deceivingly beautiful eyes.

The air in the room was thin and dry.  He was intimately aware of the empty space around him and the sharp stick of antiseptic burned his sinus’ with every intake of air.  The only sound in the room was the incessant beeping, and at this point, it was almost a calming lull. A promise that nothing has happened to his brother.

 

Dean was in a state of suspension.  A state that Castiel will liberate him from.

 

His stress ridden body locked up further as he felt the heavy static of another presence enter his space.  He swallowed heavily as the heat of Castiel's body pressed further forward. Dean could feel the demon’s breath on his cheek and instinctively turned his head away.

 

Castiel tsked.

 

But, he let Castiel run his hand up his chest, to the back of his neck.  He let Castiel scrape his nails along his scalp and grip his hair with a satisfying burn.  He let the intimate heat he missed so much run through his veins. It was the same heat Castiel knew had been simmering beneath the surface in the hall, the same heat Dean feigned knowledge of.  Denial. He let the pulses of arousal spur his desire. That desire had Dean turning his head to the gravity of Castiel's silent call.

 

Just like Castiel knew he would, he let Castiel in and the demon’s lips met his own.

 

The kiss was inevitable.  It needed to happen so his brother could live.  The kiss wasn’t what surprised him. What surprised him was that he didn’t just stand there and take it. What surprised him was that dormant, simmering heat igniting and spreading through his blood like a match to dry tinder.  

 

Pure unadulterated arousal took hold of him, stealing his breath.

 

A hungry noise of want reverberated deep in his chest.  He grabbed Castiel's hips and pushed back against the demon’s lips.  

 

He didn’t need to have his eyes open to see the demon’s smirk.  He felt the corner of his mouth rise as he pushed his tongue into Castiel's mouth.

 

The demon moaned and nipped at Dean's lip before pushing him back, his legs catching on the edge of the chair.  Dean let his legs buckle and dropped into the seat.

 

The thought of hiding seemed absurd now, but trying to open his eyes took effort.  His lids were so heavy, his head felt like it was full of cotton. His skin was buzzing and his cock was hard and throbbing his pants.  He was high and Dean was well educated on the different highs the body and mind could achieve. My God, there was no comparing it. It didn’t register who was looking down at him.  He just knew this man was giving him pleasure he hadn’t felt in fifteen years. No… longer. demon, angel, human, he didn’t care. Just like the addict he used to be, he just never wanted this feeling to stop.

 

“Please…” Dean breathed out, head lolling back against the back of the chair.    
  
Castiel crawled onto Dean's lap, his thick thighs bracketing Dean's legs in, the pressure of his straining cock growing painful.  “Please what, Father?” Castiel chuckled. “The deal is complete.”

 

“I need… I need…” Dean groaned.

 

“I know, Priest…  All in due time.”

 

Dean wanted to cry.  There was no way he knew what Dean felt.  There was no way anyone knew the absolute euphoria that was battling with agonizing memories.  All anyone knew was that pleasure was winning and Dean couldn’t find it in himself to care.  
  
Dean choked out a grunt when the demon leaned forward, gripping Dean's erection.  His searing breath played along the shell of Dean’s ear. “Listen for the hounds.” Dean's eyes went wide with fear.  Castiel gave a soft kiss to Dean's cheek a second before the heat of the demon disappeared.

 

Dean didn’t know what to do.  All the warmth had been sucked out of the room.  The harsh smells and sounds of reality crashed in to him, almost taking his breath away with the jarring transition.  The sweet, heavy sensation of his mind being somewhere else vanished with the demon, leaving him in a frigid room absence of his newest addiction.  How could he just leave? Dean needed him, needed to feel that again… Oh God, he felt so free, so high, so intune with his true self. He couldn’t wake up tomorrow knowing he’d never have that again.  
  
It scared the shit out of him.  Rationally, he could see all of that.  He knew it for what it was. He wanted to blame the demon for tricking him, but the sensations weren’t alien.  They were just… missed. He knew every single one of them and he wished with all his heart that those feelings weren’t attached to horrible memories. But they _were_ and Dean remembered why he fought what Castiel had just given him.  This path only led to pain and misery.

 

Every horrid memory flashed before his eyes, nausea rolling through him as guilt for feeling such desire brought him back the the reality if hid present life. Damn him.  
  
“Fuck!”  Dean shot out of his seat, grabbed the arms of the chair, and flug it across the room.

 

What had he done!?  He cavorted with a demon and gave into sexually deviant  temptation. He blasphemed to the highest degree by denouncing God and mocking his own servitude.  He knew he’d lost his faith the day Sammy disappeared, but he’d never been so vicious about it. If the demon had asked? Dean would have left with him.  In his heart, he knew he wasn't strong enough to say no, especially now that he abandoned God. What did it matter? God abandoned him long ago.  
  
Dean’s stomach rolled uneasily and he swayed on his feet.  He’d betrayed everyone now. First his father, then his brother, himself, and now God.  Sammy was still lifeless on the bed; he sold his soul and nothing happened.

 

All the hope he’d felt in the presence of the demon fizzled away, leaving only a dull ache.  The longer Dean stood and stared at his baby brother, the ache bled into absolutely nothing.

 

He was numb.  He could hardly blink.  He needed to cry, to scream.  He needed to hit something. He needed to see blood. But he couldn’t feel it.  He knew this feeling as well, and it was almost a comfort compared to the complete and utter sorrow he’d been feeling.

 

Dean felt his wrist tingle. He took his eyes off of his brother and pulled up his sleeve.  The thick, pink scar ran vertical along his forearm. Yeah, this seemed like the best course of action.  He had nothing left. Absolutely nothing. He let himself shit away the good yet again. Dean scoffed to himself.  At least he tried, right?

 

He was already bound for hell, his way out of this pointless life wouldn’t matter.  God would be rid of the betrayer either way. His arm took too long last time, exactly why he was standing here.  Stupid Sam... He couldn’t risk it again. The colt was in his car’s glovebox. Yeah… that was quick and to the point.  He would do it in the car. He loved his car.

 

Dean forced his legs to move forward, one agonizing step at a time.  “Goodbye Sammy. I’d love to say I’ll see ya on the other side, but I’m going somewhere else.”  Dean gave the body a wry smile, and walked out the door.

 

It was so quiet up here.  If it weren’t for the buzzing of the fluorescent lights, uncomfortable pressure would be building in his ears as he strained to hear anything.

 

Dean froze, ears picking up a muffled scream.

 

He shook his head, willing away the hallucinations.  

 

His ears strained again. It was quiet.  Good.

 

Dean continued forward, letting his fingers run along the cold brick of the walls.  He could feel every bump and dip of layered paint. Such a simple pleasure, the distraction of the senses...  He could only get lost like this when he allowed his mind to numb and block out the world. It was the closest thing to a high he ever got anymore.  It was his way of meditating.

 

Dean's heart leapt into his throat.  The screaming was back -- it sounded like a wounded animal and Dean shivered, goosebumps rising along his arms and the back of his neck.  Dean turned back toward the end of the hall.

 

The screaming was coming from his brother’s room…

 

Dean's heart beat was violent against his rib cage to the point he was having difficulty taking a breath.

 

 _God damnit!_  
  
That stupid feeling was back.  That small, glowing light deep in his chest.  Fucking _hope_.

 

Maybe the demon wasn’t lying.  Sam was technically dead… surely that took a second to accomplish.  Dean leaned against the wall, sweaty palm making him lose his grip, inch by inch.

 

“Sa-sammy…?”  Dean's voice cracked.

 

The screaming stopped abruptly, almost giving Dean whiplash.  He turned completely around, his body facing the end of the hall.  He let his feet shuffle forward slowly. Terror gripped his heart tight.  If his brother was alive, shouldn’t he be happy? Why was he terrified?

 

If his brother was alive… that makes all of this real.  The wall of denial he’d been constructing brick by brick, started to crumble rapidly.  Dean had started to tell himself it was a dream, one giant hallucination brought on by stress.

 

“Deeaaaannn!!!!!”  

 

“No… way…”

 

Sam…  Oh God, Sam!

 

It was him, it was really him.  Dean felt his eyes burn along with the muscles in his legs as he sprinted down the hall.  His shoes squealed against the linoleum as he slowed and turned into the room. His knees almost buckled and sobs tumbled forward at the sight in front of him.  

 

His stupid, naive, baby brother whom he loved with every fiber of his being, was sitting up in his hospital bed.  The same bed he’d been legally dead in just five minutes before.

 

“Dean?”  

 

Sam’s voice was almost unintelligible, the tube had been in his throat too long.  Now it dangled off the bed, drops of pink tinged saliva dripping to the floor from the rigid plastic.

 

Dean tried to suck in air around his tears, but he just couldn’t respond.  The dam broke. He couldn’t bare to stay numb anymore, this was too _real_.  He needed to feel every second of agonizing relief. He stumbled forward and fell into the bed with his brother.  Dean, not caring about any of the stupid tubes, let himself wrap his emaciated brother in his arms.

 

“Dean…” Sam croaked, shaking Dean's shoulder.

 

“Just shut up and give this to me!  You can be pissed at me later!”

 

And Sam did.  Sam gave Dean what he needed and in that moment, Dean was very much okay with his soul being in the hands of a demon.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tracks: 
> 
> Metallica-The Unforgiven (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ckom3gf57Yw)
> 
> In This Moment- River of Fire (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iWVLi5AUNUw)
> 
> Tooji- Father (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4XSn6RfeefI) Seriously watch this video. Thank me later.

Present Day

 

 

 

Dean managed to hold back every tear as he watched his brother get into the stupid minivan and drive away to his happily ever after.  Dean was never destined for a happily ever after, although he would’ve conceded if it involved a prince instead of a princess.

 

He didn’t blare music on the drive back to the church; it wouldn’t matter how loud he played the music, the howls now drowned out any other sound.

 

The town passed by in slow motion.  Every landmark held a memory of the past ten years.  He watched the phantom of his brother bump into Eileen in front of the farmer’s market.  He saw ghostly tears fall down Eileen's face as Sam proposed in front of the little Italian Place that was the fanciest restaurant in town.  He watched Sam push Eileen and Moira out of the hospital doors in a wheelchair. When he passed the park, he saw Sam pushing Moira on the swing as Eileen fused over Mary in a stroller.  Finally, he saw the sign for Sam’s new office being put up. That had only happened a week ago. Perfect timing.

 

With a smile on his face, determined to stay in his happy place, Dean parked the car in the church parking lot and made his way to his office. He knew they were there, watching and waiting.  The howls had grown closer with every hour and now he could hear growls. There was more than one beast. For the first time since he left, a flash of fear chilled the length of his body, his heart racing as he fought the clock with his final few minutes.

 

Evening Mass had recently ended, the candles behind the altar still burning, casting an eerie glow across the simple altarpiece: a carved wooden crucifix that had been in the church since its inception in 1566.  It started as a Spanish Mission and each generation added something to it, but the crucifix stayed. The paint was chipping away, leaving splotches of dull color, the whites of His eyes had yellowed long ago, but the black stayed dark and watched you wherever you went.  

 

They were watching him now.

 

The candles’ flickering made the wood come alive with holy retribution.  There was no one left to disappoint.

 

He knew it was pointless, but he still locked the door behind him.  He didn’t bother turning on lights in his study, relying on the soft blue glow from the full moon’s light shining through the window.  He opened the armoire nestled in the right corner of the room -- almost as old as the church -- and took took the dusty cassock, giving it a shake before dressing.  It was never necessary to wear, and no one really wore them anymore in this part of the country. Regardless, it was special to him, once belonging to his grandfather.  It was his legacy and this was a ceremony.

 

His chest grew tight with fear as the scratching on the door began.  He took a shuddering breath and with shaking hands, took his rosary from his pocket. He wrapped it around his palm before kneeling in the center of the room, the maroon carpet cushioning his knees.  He began to pray. He knelt, waiting for his fate and penance from God for his ultimate sin, knowing no one was listening to his prayers. Even now the prayers weren’t for him or his soul, they were for his brother.  Still, no one wanted to hear those either.

 

He couldn’t concentrate.  The howls vibrated through his bones, the growls knotted his stomach, and the doors shuddered with the weight of the hounds scratching to get in.  

 

He’d made the right decision.  His brother was sober, married with kids and had a son on the way.  Happiness surrounded his family. If Dean hadn’t made the deal, they’d be in mourning every day of their lives, wondering where they went wrong, how they could’ve done more, and ultimately battling the depressing realization that it was their fault.

 

The doors were bending now and Dean let a single tear fall down his cheek.  

 

“In the name of the Father, The Son, and the Holy Spirit.” Dean crossed himself.

 

His chest was knotted in anxiety, breath short and choppy, while the cassock hid the tremors of fear wracking his body.

 

A loud crack echoed through the room.  He braced himself for pain as the doors splintered open. He heard claws on the hardwood floor and felt hot, rancid breath of the hounds on his face and neck.

 

But, no pain came.  The howls had stopped, there was no growling or scratching.  But he was still surrounded by the dogs of hell.

 

“Truly I tell you, people can be forgiven all their sins and every slander they utter”  Dean snapped his eyes open and looked to the left towards his desk. “but whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit will never be forgiven; they are guilty of eternal an sin.”

 

Dean sneered at the man in his chair. Castiel was sharply dressed in a black suit, leaning back with his legs on the desk, ankles crossed.

 

“Mark twenty eight through twenty nine.” The man grinned.

 

“You son of a bitch…”

 

“Oh my.  Such language, Padre.”

 

Castiel smirked, shifting his feet on top of Dean's bibles and sermons, looking smug while Dean knelt on the floor in subjugation.  Castiel took a bite of a shiny red apple.

 

“On your knees again?  That is a good look for you, Father Winchester,” he said around a mouth full of apple.  Each crunch grated on Dean's already fried nerves. He tried to stand, but was rooted to the spot as if anchored by rope and chains.

 

“Why am I not dead?”  Dean couldn’t keep the venom out of his voice.

 

“Because I willed it.”  Dean sneered but Castiel ignored it and continued.  “Oh did I ruin a completely perfect ending you had prepared for yourself?”  Castiel held his hand on his chest in mock surprise. “I am terribly sorry.”

 

“No, I was just hoping to never see you again.”

 

“Well that hurts where my heart should be.” Castiel grinned.  “I don’t understand Father. That last time we saw each other, it ended quite well if I remember correctly.”  The demon nonchalantly scratched his chin.

 

“Shut up.”

 

“And you seemed to enjoy my evening visits quite thoroughly.”

 

Dean's heart skipped a beat.

 

“I loved watching you wake up, full of such passion and arousal.  If you didn’t come untouched from your dream, you enthusiastically finished yourself off, my name on the tip of your tongue.  You were your old self before consciousness ruined it.”

 

“Shut up!”

 

“The truth hurts doesn’t it?”

 

“That isn’t truth!  That is witchcraft. You--”

 

In the blink of an eye, Castiel was out of Dean's desk chair and leaning above him, gripping his chin, forcing him to look the demon in the eyes.

 

“Stop lying,” Castiel hissed.

 

Dean shut his eyes.

 

Castiel continued,  “I didn’t do anything to you Father.  I simply put the idea there. It was your choice to turn away from it, but instead you embraced it, like you should have years ago.”

 

Dean's chest was heaving and he couldn’t move.  He couldn’t run or cover his ears. He knelt there and listened to every word the demon fed him.  Dean didn’t know what hurt worse. Having to hear it, or knowing every word was true.

 

“I don’t know why you sold your soul for your brother.  He didn’t deserve it, you did.”

 

“Wha--”

 

“I watched you, Dean.  Almost every day. You did nothing for yourself.  No matter how hard I tried to help you, you fought me with every impulse and idea I threw your way, simply clinging to the notion of your brother’s perfect life.  A life you secretly wanted for yourself.”

 

“I never wante--”

 

“Stop lying!” Castiel hissed through gritted teeth. “You have always wanted it, but you knew something everyone else _didn’t_.  You knew it every time you stood at that pulpit.  This was never the life you belonged in. You liked drinking, liked driving your car fast with loud music.  You loved the idea of revenge.” Castiel punctuated each point with his deep voice growing louder and louder, until he paused.  The demon leaned impossibly closer, his hot, dark voice whispered, “You loved sucking cock.”

 

“You shut your mouth!” Dean tried to thrash, tried to fight, but he was held still.

 

“You never would’ve touched heroin if your father hadn’t sent you to that camp…”

 

Dean stopped breathing.

 

He could almost feel his body go numb from the ice baths.  He could almost feel his body stiffen from the electricity that was forced into his temples.  He _did_ feel the aches from the beatings he was given when they caught him with Benny.  He tried to forget it, he really tried, but the flashbacks wouldn’t go away unless he was high.

 

Silent tears fell freely, while his chest was so tight with pressure he thought he might explode.

 

“Everyone has lied to you.  Your father, the church… yourself.”

 

Dean looked up into the demon’s blue eyes. He wasn’t sneering, or grinning.  Dean saw no mocking intention in his face.

 

Castiel's thumb wiped the tears from Dean's cheeks.  “The church was never going to fix it. Even though you were ‘cured’, your father was no less disgusted. It was a valiant effort, but that effort suffocated you.”

 

Castiel leaned forward and kissed Dean on the forehead, soft and gentle.  He’d never received such a touch from anyone.

 

The demon’s lips never left his skin.  He traced them gently over Dean’s forehead, temple, until his hot breath tickled the shell of his ear.  Castiel whispered, “You know, Dean, there is nothing wrong with those feelings. Hedonism is just a part of being human.  You have managed to ignore your nature for far too long. I know it was a survival mechanism, but there is nothing wrong with loving the feel of another man against your body.”

 

No…

 

Dean swallowed heavily.

 

“There is nothing wrong with craving the heavy heat of another man’s cock in your mouth.”

 

No…

 

His breath was becoming shallow.  Only, this time it wasn’t from fear.

 

“There is nothing wrong with the heady euphoria you get when he slides in.”  Dean felt the demon’s searing tongue against the ridge of his ear before he pulled away, still gripping his chin.  

 

Dean couldn’t stop the groan that bubbled up from his chest, his cock growing hard in his pants.  Castiel grinned against Dean's ear. “That cassock isn’t hiding anything, Padre.”

 

He was being pulled in two different directions.  “Why are you doing this? I don’t understand. I am supposed to die.”

 

“Yes, I know you are.  But I can’t let that happen.”

 

His head was starting to hurt from all the contradictions.  “The first time I met you, you put your arm through my chest.”

 

“I’m a demon, it’s how I shake hands.”

 

Dean just started up at him, not believing he could joke at a time like this.

 

Castiel rolled his eyes.  “Your sour face was pissing me off.  I wanted to see something other than angst.  I wanted to know why such an angry human had such a bright soul.”

 

“You were testing me?”

 

He shrugged. “In a way.  I like to see how people react to fear.  You didn’t seem phased. You shrugged it off and worried, yet again, about someone other than yourself.” Castiel looked away from Dean's wide eyes and smiled softly as if thinking of a sweet memory.  He chuckled and looked back to the priest on the floor. “If you’d like I can torture you some more, although I’d rather not as I have grown fond of you.”

 

Dean tilted his head in confusion.  Who was this guy? Isn’t he supposed to be a demon?

 

“You see, Dean, unlike you? I don’t hide from what I truly desire, and I desire you.  You are fascinating and your soul...”

 

Dean's jaw dropped, but Castiel just pushed it shut with one finger.

 

“Not only do I desire you, but I desire for you to be yourself.”

 

“The last time I did that it ruined my life.”

 

“Oh, Father, I am here to set you free.”  There was a long pause, Dean scrutinizing the demon’s face, Castiel using his perfect, mute, poker face.  “Just make a new deal with me.”

 

“Like hell,” Dean breathed out.

 

“So, you truly _do_ wish to die?” Castiel's voice was exasperated, unbelieving.  Of course he didn’t want to die. “What do you have to lose?”

 

That was fair.  He’d done what he set out to do, and that was to right the wrongs against his brother.  His brother was exactly where he should be and that was…. it. Dean was truly left to himself, something he’d spent most of his life avoiding.  

 

“But… God… he saved me.”  Even he knew it sounded weak.  He was starting to wonder why he kept fighting the demon...  

 

“The truth is right here, Dean.  You can call me a liar, but look into your own past.  God didn’t save you, the fear of your father did. You blasphemed and sold your soul.  I was right outside of that hospital room, I know exactly how you felt. Don’t pretend you ever truly gave yourself to him.”  Dean tried to protest but he was cut off. “That, however, is my deal. Give yourself completely to me. I already have your soul.  Now I want your mind and… body.”

 

Dean's mouth went dry as he saw Castiel’s eyes tracing the body that he hid, as if he wasn’t wearing the cassock.  “Let me show you what life should have been. Let go.”

 

He knew he was bound by Castiel's will, but he felt the tension leave his muscles.

 

“I don’t know how.”

 

“Let me show you.” The demon grinned ferally.

 

Dean pitched forward, landing on his hands and knees as the demon released his chin and the invisible restraints on his body.  The snarling hounds backed away until their presence wasn’t felt anymore. It was just Castiel and Dean. Dean rose slowly on shaking legs, his eyes never leaving Castiel’s.  Moving together, as Dean rose, Castiel lifted his hand. He followed the demon’s finger as it came to rest gently in the center of his forehead.

 

He felt a tug in his stomach and he stumbled forward, almost tripping, but Castiel caught his shoulders, steadying him as his mind fought to catch up.

 

Hazy, dim light glowed around them, creating an illuminated bubble amidst the dark of the nave.  Dean took a step backwards, bumping into a hard surface. He glanced back and saw the white marble of the altar.  Looking around frantically, his mind finally in the present, Dean realized they were now in the sanctuary. The tabernacle and altar piece were to his left, the candles from Mass still lit, swaying gently from the stray wisps of air that snuck in through cracks of the old building.  

 

“Dean Winchester.”  Castiel's voice cracked through the air like a whip, interrupting the silence the sanctuary of the church brought, commanding attention.  

 

Dean swallowed heavily.  What was going on?

 

“Do you agree to the deal I laid forth in exchange for the release of death that was ordered ten years prior?”

 

Dean always felt small standing here, had felt like an outsider from day one.  He shouldn’t have felt like curling in on himself when he stood up here preaching the words that had ‘saved’ him.  He should have felt proud and powerful. Even facing Castiel in that hospital room, Dean hadn’t felt this powerless.  

 

Dean glanced up at the ancient wooden crucifix, aged eyes scrutinizing every part of Dean's life and choices that led him to this.  He’d always been terrified of that carving. It was always larger than life, just like his father, constantly looming in the background.  Watching, waiting for Dean to disappoint yet again. A life of walking on eggshells around his father and a faith he was forced into for the sake of his family.  Now, with a legitimate force in his proximity, the idea of the altarpiece or his dead father having power over him, it seemed laughable.

 

He could feel the amusement bubble in his gut, his will trying to stifle the smile that threatened to break his facade.

 

“You know, the people who go to this church are all shit people.”

 

Castiel stayed silent but Dean could almost feel the surprise emanating from the demon.

 

“I might like dick, but I don’t hate the Gonzalez family because of where they’re from. You should hear the venomous shit that come out of people’s mouths in confession,”  Dean scoffed.

 

Dean leaned back against the altar and ran a hand through his hair.  “Did you know that Mrs. Birch has had twenty abortions, and on the weekends goes to planned parenthood and protests?  No one knows but me. None of the men she had affairs with know either. There is an old fucker that I take confession from and has asked me to make last rights for him.” Dean sneers.  “Did you know he hung a black teenager in the 60’s? Never got caught. Did you know he had the audacity to ask for forgiveness for that, when he truly doesn’t believe he didn’t anything wrong?  The bastard is just scared to die.”

 

Castiel stood as still as a statue, arms crossed, simply listening.  The silence was deafening, the air was charged with electric fury.

 

“And I have to give it.  I have to tell him he will be forgiven if he goes and says a few fucking words.”

 

“Let it out,” the demon whispered.

 

“And yet, I’m DAMNED because I want to love a man.  I’m a disgusting freak because I want to express that love physically with someone with the same junk as me!”  Dean screamed.

 

“All these horrible people… and yet…”  Dean trailed off.

 

“Release the truth.” Castiel's voice danced across his skin.

 

“My dad was the sinner…”  Dean whispered, the syllables drifting throughout the church like smoke in the wind.  Saying it outloud… the weighted blanket that had been draped over his back for so many years, simply dissipated, no longer smothered him.  

 

Dean lurched forward and grabbed Castiel by the lapels of his suit, pulling him into a bruising kiss.

 

Dean felt the demon’s surprise.  Wasn’t this his plan all along? Bring Dean into the light, make him realize the truth?  

 

“What?” Dean asked pulling back slowly. “You seem shocked.  The first time a human has come on to you?”

 

Castiel stood still, his eyes closed and a small smile gracing his lips.  “No.”

 

Dean didn’t know why, but that simple answer brought him back down to the sorrow he’d felt all day.  He stepped back, crossing his arms like a petulant child. “Of course. I’m sure you usually just force them.”  

 

He’d barely gotten the acidic words out of his mouth before the air was forced from his lungs and the room had shifted.  He grunted as the cold marble hit his back and Castiel's warmth graced either side of his body.

 

Dean clutched the arm holding him down, Castiel's hand gripping his throat just this side of too tight.  Dean tried to push him away, but it was like trying to move a boulder.

 

“Is that what you want, Priest? You want me to force you?”  

 

Against this own will, Dean’s legs were forced open by the same invisible force that had held him immobile in his office.  Castiel leaned forward as far as physically possible, pushing his hips between Dean's open legs. Dean jerked and tried to shut them, but he couldn’t move.  Cas chuckled and thrust forward, their erect cocks rubbing together. No matter how hard he wanted to fight it, there was no stopping the guttural moan that came out of Dean’s mouth.  

 

“You want me to treat you like everyone else?”  Castiel asked, only inches away from Dean's lips.  Didn’t he? It was what Dean was used to. Dean felt an answer bubble up, trapped and forced back down by Castiel's grip.  All he could manage was a growl.

 

“You want to know why I was shocked?”

 

Dean stared into the demon’s glass-like red eyes, his own fury reflecting back at him.

 

“I was shocked, sweet Priest, because for the first time you made a decision by yourself, for yourself.”

 

Dean stopped struggling and in return, felt Castiel’s grip loosen.  

 

“I never wanted to force you. I never was going to force you.”  Castiel nipped at Dean's chin and stepped back.

 

The pressure pushing and pulling him from so many different directions dissipated, leaving him prone on the marble alter, shaky and weak.  

 

He knew Castiel hadn’t left, that he wasn’t just talking about the room they were in now.  He could feel Castiel's presence -- almost an electric tension, one that had stayed with him for ten years, always lingering in the dark, but never invoking fear.  Any fear Dean felt was from how own insecurities.

 

Dean took a ragged breath.  “Why didn’t you just come to me?”

 

“I am not allowed.”

 

“You’re a de--”

 

“And even we have rules!”

 

Dean sat up with a groan.  “How long have you been watching me?”

 

Castiel stood as he did when Dean first saw him in Sam’s hospital room, reclined against a support beam, his leg bent and arms crossed.  “Why does it matter?”

 

“How long?”  Dean shouted.

 

“When Sam disappeared.”

 

“Jesus…”

 

“Your desperation and anger called out to me,” Cas added quickly.

 

Dean cocked his head, confused.

 

“You have to understand, I’ve been alive for a very long time and everyone I have made a deal with, has been for selfish reasons.  Humanity disgusted me for so very long... then you showed up.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What?”

 

“Yes, I accept the deal.”

 

Castiel stayed rooted to the spot, almost looking uncomfortable.  “You do understand I am not a good person.”

 

Of course he wasn’t, but he is what Dean wanted.  Dean had always been different, and his happily ever after was going to be as unconventional as himself.  

 

“Neither am I.”

 

Castiel lurched away from the beam.  “Yes you--”

 

Dean cut him off.  “You promised me everything I ever wanted.”

 

Castiel exhaled in defeat.  “So I did.”

 

“The things I want…” Dean licked his lips and leaned back, opening his legs again  “are not what good people want.”

 

Castiel smiled and chuckled.  “Is that so, Priest?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Castiel shrugged out of his jacket and left it where it landed before making his way slowly back up to the altar. Dean’s eyes danced between Castiel's long fingers loosening his tie, and the demons eyes that seemed to match the same sapphire blue of the silk.  With each predatory step, Castiel popped a button on his shirt. Arousal pulsed up Dean's cock. He bit his lip and white knuckled the marble of the altar.

 

Dean almost wanted to laugh.  Maybe in relief, maybe in the absurdity of his situation. For the first time in his life, he let himself _feel_.  He didn’t try to shut away his attraction, letting it run free like this was almost overwhelming.  He squeezed his legs together and tried hard not to stroke himself through the cassock.

 

Castiel approached and stopped at Dean's knees, the demon’s black shirt hanging open.  Dean's eyes traced the tanned, muscled plains of Castiel's chest and stomach. He could feel the heat radiating from the man in front of him. Castiel didn’t even try to hide the pronounced outline of his cock trying to break free from the confines of his black slacks.  

 

Dean’s mouth went dry and his heart tried to beat out of his chest.   _Jesus Christ…._

He fiddled with the hem of his cassock, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do.

 

“You can touch me.”

 

He glanced up at Castiel, nodding before bringing a shaking hand up to the demon’s chest.  Dean gulped and let his palm rest against scorching hot skin. It was softer than he was expecting.  He let his hand slowly slide up, fingers grazing Castiel's neck. As Dean’'s hand explored, Castiel took a step forward, nuding Dean's legs apart.

 

“Are you ready?”

 

Still lost in his task, Dean didn’t really hear him.  “Ready for what?” Dean bit his lip and ran his thumb over a nipple.

 

Castiel hummed pleasantly.  “Your communion.”

 

Dean paused his hand and looked up.  “My communion?”

 

“Yes.” Castiel leaned in and ran his lips along Dean's stubbled jaw.  He tilted his head and Castiel peppered kisses down his neck. Dean closed his eyes, let the pleasant warmth of Castiel's proximity and the soft pleasure tickling his neck relax him.  “The eucharist.”

 

His head was getting fuzzy and his body was pliable.  “Why?” Dean gasped as Castiel's scrapped his teeth along the junction of his neck.

 

“Because, if a kiss is what sealed the first deal, what do you think needs to happen if we change that deal on the day you’re supposed to die?”

 

Dean gasped and gripped Castiel's arm when he felt suction right below his ear. Dean groaned “I don’t-- _oh_ …”

 

He knew he should be terrified; he’d been terrified throughout his adult life with the idea of fucking a human man. So, common sense dictated that a human being should be scared of fucking a demon.

 

Dean bit his lip and groaned.  Fuck common sense.

 

He gripped Castiel’s clean cut, midnight brown hair, and pulled the demon to his lips.  The first kiss was an explosion of emotions, realizations, and need. This kiss was about possession.  Castiel groaned and opened for Dean, both men trading breath and taking turns owning one another. Dean wrapped his legs around Castiel's waist and pulled.  They broke apart gasping and the demon stared at the priest in reverence before growling and pushing Dean back on the the altar.

 

Dean felt a tug and a blast of chilly air.  The front of his cassock had been ripped open, the only thing holding it in place was a single button and the collar at his neck.  He barely had time to adjust before Castiel was pawing at his belt. Dean reached down and tried to help, but Castiel batted his hand away.  Both men took pause and Dean gulped at the man looking at him. Castiel glared at him, the demon’s eyes not red, but dark and stormy like the deep ocean.  

 

Not breaking eye contact, Dean felt Castiel tug the belt free.  Seconds later, another rush of cold air hit his skin, this time causing him to gasp.  His cock was throbbing and overheated and Dean reached down to shield it from the harsh introduction.

 

Again Castiel denied him.  Dean’s arms shot above his head and locked in place, again unable to move what he wanted.  

 

“What the hell!”

 

Castiel raised his index finger to his lips and shushed Dean.  The demon gave a soft kiss to Dean's stomach before standing. He walked to the head of the altar where Dean's hands were immobile.

 

Dean craned his head back trying to get a look at what Castiel was up to.  His chest rose and fell, lust and fear intermingling, causing his mind to short circuit with pleasure.  

 

“I don’t want to waste energy on holding you down, but…”  Castiel tapped his chin. The demon looked around and then snapped his fingers.  “Ah yes. How appropriate.”

 

Dean saw him walk a few feet away, hiis back was turned and it seemed he was looking beneath the tabernacle.

 

“Castiel, come on, _please_ …”  Dean thumped his head on the marble in frustration.  His cock ached with arousal and he flexed his hips instinctually, searching for relief that the demon was denying him.  “Castiel!” Dean shouted, pulling at his invisible bindings.

 

Dean heard the taps of Castiel’s shoes on the hardwood before he came back into his peripheral again.  “I’m sorry, Dean.”

 

“You should be, I’m dying here.”

 

“No, I’m not sorry for that.”

 

A shock of fear ran through his body.  “Well, then for what?”

 

“For this.”

 

Dean felt something bite into the skin of his wrist, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t see.   Only a moment later, the initial force lifted and freed his arms, but his hands were still immobile.

 

“What the--”  He brought his hands up and saw a rosary, tightly binding his wrist together.  “Casti--” Dean was ready to kick the demon in the face, but was again rendered mute with surprise.  The same biting tension erupted along the base of his dick.

 

He hissed and looked down his body.  “You son of a bitch!”

 

Castiel chuckled.  “Oh come now, Padre.  I told you I would give you unimaginable pleasure.”

 

“Then why--”  


“I said _I_ would, not you and your sneaky hands.”

 

Dean grit his teeth and pulled against the rosary, but it wouldn't budge and the one on his dick was just confusing him.  This was not what he was expecting, but if the demon was a little kinky then whatever. “Fine. But, Castiel please take that off my--”  Dean's words died on his lips and were replaced by a guttural moan that echoed throughout the church.

 

With no warning, Castiel took the whole of Dean's length into his mouth in one wet, hot slide.  Castiel hummed around the priest’s cock, clearly happy with the reaction.

 

Remembering how to breathe, Dean took a few sharp breathes.  “Oh… God… Casti---Cas, don’t stop.”

 

Castiel pulled off.  “I don’t intend to.” The demon gave a soft lick to the head of Dean's cock before taking him back in his mouth.  

 

“Shiiit.”  Dean groaned and panted, his back bowing, overwhelmed with sensations he hadn’t felt in such a long time.  Of course he masterbated and used toys on himself, but he had vowed never to have another human being.

 

Sharp pressure started to rise quickly and there was no way he was going to stop it.  This was going to be embarrassing... He didn't even think it’d been a minute. He didn’t want this to be over.  “Cas… I’m…” Dean whined, his head shaking back and forth.

 

Dean felt one more blissfully tight suck before Castiel pulled off.  The heat was instantly gone, and the cresting pressure ceased, the beads around his cock tighter than they had been.  

 

He was stunned for a second and then frustration took over.  “Cas, why!”

 

“Oh hush,” Castiel chastised right before taking Dean back into his mouth.

 

“Fuck!” Dean almost came up off the altar.  Searing hot pleasure radiated up his body. With each wet pull of Castiel's lips, waves of pleasure streamed through his cock.  He had recieved blow jobs a long time ago, but he’d never felt anything like this. His hands might be tied, but his arms weren’t.  He brought them over his head and with both bound hands, gripped Castiel's head, spurring him on. Dean watched, mesmerized as Castiel bobbed his head expertly, occasionally looking up and seeing exactly what he was doing to Dean.  His plush lips, swollen, and wet moving up and down his cock... the sight alone was enough to make him come.

 

Dean panted and writhed, the torn open cassock damp from sweat, draped over the sides of the now slick white marble altar.  “Cas… oh God, Cas…” Dean could feel it rising even quicker than before. “Please don’t stop…”

 

Castiel did the complete opposite.  With no warning, cold air replaced the warmth of Castiel's mouth.  Dean growled and pulled at the rosary harder than before, concentrating on the pain instead of the immediate bar on his orgasm.

 

“Why are you doing this?  I thought…” Dean felt the tight knot in his throat and he tried to swallow down the frustration.  There was no fucking way he was gonna start crying, but that is all he wanted to do. This wasn’t pleasure, this was torture.

 

“Shhhh, shhh sweet {riest.”  Castiel was by his head in a second, smoothing back damp hair and peppering soft kisses on his cheek.  “You will see.”

 

Dean didn’t have the strength to argue.  He didn’t even have the strength to cuss the demon out as he tortured Dean twice more, each time getting shorter and more painful than the last.  Dean tried to fight back, but thrusting his cock into Castiel's throat only made his situation worse. Castiel moaned around his cock every time, the electric vibrations causing his vision to spark white, his legs to shake.  Tears streamed down his temples and into his hairline.

 

“Cas, I can’t...” Dean sobbed.  “Please stop, it hurts.”

 

“I know, I know,”  Castiel cooed, rubbing soft circles in Dean's shaking thigh.  Castiel leaned down and gave a quick kiss to the head of Dean's cock before removing the rosary, one loop at a time.  Dean hissed as his cock expanded, the sore tissue aching pleasantly.

 

“You are a cruel man.”  Dean groaned, his head cloudy.

 

“I told you I wasn’t a good person.”

 

Dean jumped when he felt something cold and wet push between his ass cheeks.  “Legs up, Priest.”

 

“Wha--what is that?” Dean asked but complied with Castiel's order.

 

Castiel held up the gold bowl and Dean wanted to laugh.  “Ho--holy oil?”

 

Dean could laugh later, Castiel's finger was circling his opening and with a small push, his finger slid into Dean's body.  Dean smiled and moaned happily. Oh, he missed this feeling. Just that one finger fillining him brought back sensations that were familiar and foreign.  Doing this to himself was just not the same. “More.”

 

“Patie--”

 

“No more patience, Cas. I won’t break, hurry up.”

 

Castiel quirked an eyebrow and pushed in a second digit. Dean sighed and bit his lip, the slight burn igniting his blood, his previous torture forgiven and forgotten.  “Yes, I want to feel it,” Dean purred and spread his legs open further.

 

Castiel made quick work of Dean’s ass, fingers expanding and wrist twisting all the way up to three fingers.  With every teasing pass Castiel made over his prostate, Dean’s body jerked in an attempt to push himself further onto Castiel’s fingers.  The demon would simply tsk and eventually removed his fingers all together. They were just fingers, but the emptiness left behind was jarring.  Dean was cold and every fiber in his being needed Cas to fill him. He was a slave to his desires. Lust had taken over and for the first time, Dean welcomed it.  He didn’t care how needy he sounded; he was desperate for this creature of hell who was giving him things no angel or God had ever given him.

 

“Cas… please…”

 

“What do you want Father?” Castiel asked, his deep voice caressing Dean’s skin like silk.

 

Dean lolled his head to the side, Castiel stood fully nude between the altar and the tabernacle.  The soft glow of the candles highlighted every ridge of muscle and curve of tan skin. The muscles in his arm flexed gently as he applied the holy oil to his thick cock.  He sure didn’t look like a demon. He looked like an angel. Demon or angel, Dean didn’t care. Castiel was his savior.

 

“You, please.”

 

“Please what?” Castiel asked as he walked back around to the edge of the altar, running his hands along every inch of bare skin Dean presented.

 

“Please fuck me.”  With that final breathy request, it seemed like all sound left the church and time stood still.  There was nothing but Castiel and him.

 

In one brutal thrust, Castiel buried himself to the hilt.  All the air left Dean's lungs and a silent cry fell from his open mouth. Dean’s eyes rolled back, his back bowed with the shocking pleasure and burning pressure.  It was blissful how full he was.

 

Castiel gave him only a moment before unleashing his own passion on Dean's ass.  Castiel moved his hands from Dean's legs to his hips, pulling hard with a growl. Dean slid down the altar until his ass hung over the edge, enough that Castiel could truly own him.  All Dean could do was hold on to the lip of the marble, his hands still bound.

 

Cas growled and started a brutal pace.  The force of Castiel’s thrusts had Dean’s whole body jerking.  The slap of skin meeting skin echoed throughout the church. “Is this what you wanted Dean? Is this what you missed?” Cas voice was dangerous and laced with sin, each filthy word punctuated with a violent snap of hips.

 

“Ye-eess,”  Dean sobbed.  He was in sensory overload; everything began and ended where their bodies were joined.  Castiel leaned over and with a harsh grip in Dean’s hair, pulled the priest into a violent kiss.  Animalistic hunger taking over, both men nipped, sucked and bit each other’s lips, tongues joining over and over again.  Moans of satisfaction accompanied the smack of skin.

 

Castiel let his hand cradle Dean's cheek, expecting the aggression to settle.  Dean wouldn’t let that happen. He turned his head and chased Castiel’s index finger with his tongue.  Castiel froze his hand and let Dean take the finger into his mouth. The demon moaned as Dean sucked and bit at the digit.  Dean almost wished it was Castiel's cock instead, but his cock was exactly where it needed to be.

 

Dean was ravenous, nothing was enough. Castiel nudged a second finger alongside the first.,  As if he were starving for it, Dean greedily took the other finger into his mouth. Both men looked at each other with heavily lidded, sex glazed eyes.  Never taking his eyes from Castiel, Dean bobbed his head along Castiel's fingers, both men moaning at the implications.

 

Castiel ripped his fingers free and pushed deeper into Dean's body.  “Oh God.. Cas… yes. Harder.” Dean growled, looking the demon straight in the eyes.  Castiel’s eyes clouded over in the familiar dark red, the tiny dots of the candles that surrounded them reflected beautifully.  It was all such an impossible contradiction; such grace and beauty in sin and evil.

 

A feral snarl rose from Castiel’s throat and the tight grip on Dean’s hip became close to damaging.  Dean cried out long and low as he felt himself being split open. Cas was so ungodly deep, using Dean's body as leverage for his assault.  He was using Dean for their pleasure.

 

Castiel's had fucked Dean farther up the altar, his head angled back as he tried to hold on against the vicious fucking he was receiving. Dean’s entire body bounced against the white marble as Cas pumped into his ass, and all Dean could do was scream his pleasure and hold on.  It was a pleasure he didn’t know existed, he never wanted it to end.

 

The only light in the church were the candles, and they were blurring together, casting unnatural shadows along the walls.  The shadows watched him, moving with the flickering of the candles, moving closer as Dean was pushed further and further into sexual euphoria.  He felt a calling to the shadows and fierce pulses of arousal shot through Dean's body as he let himself see the shapes form in the shadows.

 

They had and audience to their ceremony.

 

Let them watch.  Let everyone see his pleasure.  Let everyone see who he belongs to.  His eyes darted to the judgemental crucifix hanging on the tabernacle.  The son of God watched. Let him watch as well. Let God watch the demon posses him, mind, body and soul, let God see who he chose, who was going to give him life again.  He prayed those holy eyes watched their unholy communion on the altar of God.

 

With each push and pull of Castiel's cock on Dean’s rim, electric pulses of ecstasy took him higher and higher.  It just felt so fucking good. A breathless chuckle caught in his throat, his hands tightening on the altar. With a perfectly angled thrust, Castiel hit Dean's prostate and his elation transformed into sharp pressure.

 

“Right there!  Yes, yes, God yes,” he screamed out, a smile gracing his kiss swollen lips.  With a grunt Castiel kept the savage pace and with each thrust hit his mark. Dean sobbed in pure unadulterated ecstasy as fire licked up his cock.  He shut his eyes and let himself drown in Castiel.

“Take this and eat, this is my body which will be given up for you,” Dean said around a breathy moan. “Cas, oh please, please.”

 

Dean felt as if he were dying.  His heart couldn’t beat any faster and the pressure at the base of his cock was a torturous bliss that was on the brink of driving him mad.

 

Castiel finished the prayer through broken moans.  “Take this and drink, this is the cup of my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant.”

 

Pressure was building and flowing between Dean’s cock and ass and he knew this time he couldn’t stop it.

 

“Mine,” Castiel demanded.

 

It was as if that one word triggered everything.  Dean’s body snapped tight, the pressure in his cock exploded in pulses of euphoric ecstasy and had him riding the edge of unconsciousness.

 

“Oh, fuck, oh fuck, Dean!”  Castiel cried out, his own orgasm shooting through him.  Dean's ass gripped Castiel's cock tight and milked every last drop of come from the demon.  

 

He didn’t know how long it went on, but he’d never come that hard or that long in his entire life.  He was suspended in a state of perpetual orgasmic relief, paralized by the sexual release Castiel had promised him.  Even his fantasies couldn’t have imagined the impossible pleasure that wracked his body. He knew he was screaming, could feel his throat straining as his cock gave one last pulse.

 

Dean’s body was limp and sated atop the altar.  Castiel lay on top of Dean, his head resting on his chest, the only sound was both men’s labored breathing.  Dean heard a lazy snap and the soft clatter of beads hitting the floor right before his wrists were released.  With effort, Dean brought a hand to Castiel's head and ran his fingers through the damp strands of Castiel’s dark hair. Dean felt the vibration of Castiel’s hum against his chest.

 

Dean smiled. “Dominus vobiscum.”

 

Castiel chuckled.  “Et cum spiritu tuo.”

 

Dean gave a full bodied laugh, only to have Castiel’s chuckle also turn into a deep laugh

 


	5. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tracks: Metallica- Of Wolf and Man (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6biUKaFD7AE)

 

 

“What do you have to say for yourself, bitch?”

The only response from the woman were wracking sobs. “Please don’t kill me, please. I’ll do anything.”

Dean laughed cruelly. “Oh, you will do something alright.” The girl looked up, hopeful. “You are going to scream.”

Any remaining hope in the girl’s face disappeared and a fresh wave of tears started to run down her face. “No, no, no!!”

“Shut up!” Dean spat.

He held out his hand to the right expectantly and felt the solid weight of the hunting blade fill his palm. It had become an extension of his arm the last few months. He was almost disappointed that this cunt was the last on his personal list.

“Make her feel it,” Castiel said into Dean’s ear, just loud enough for her to hear it.

“Please, I didn’t do anything!”

Dean felt untapped fury radiate off of him. He looked around the warehouse at all the filthy mattresses and dirty human beings laid across the floor, unconscious or dead. Some of them as young as fourteen.

“Do you remember Sam Winchester?”

The woman froze and her eyes widened in shock. A flash of anger danced across her face.

“But… … you’re a priest.”

The men laughed.

“Karma’s a bitch, Ruby. Now, what do you want sliced off first? I’ll let you pick.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Laughter filled the small dining room in reaction to a corny joke Dean had heard at work.

Steering the conversation away from Dean's painfully bad jokes, Castiel put down his fork and made a show of patting his stomach. _“That was delicious,”_ Castiel spoke out loud, but signed in tandem. _“Thank you for having me.”_

 _“We are happy to have you. The girls love you and we are so happy to see Dean so happy._ ” Eileen signed back.

 _“How's the garage, Cas?”_ Sam asked.

_“It is doing very well, thank you. I just got a request to restore a ‘65 Mustang.”_

_“I feel like I won’t be seeing much of my husband when the stupid car pulls into his shop.”_ Dean interrupted.

_“Well, if I recall, you spent plenty of time in the shop with me when I had to do a complete overhaul of Baby because you don’t love her like you should.”_

Dean grabbed his chest in mock horror. _“How dare you! I love her to the moon and back… I just, don’t know shit about cars.”_ Dean shrugged.

Castiel rolled his eyes. _“Regardless. It will work out nicely. My schedule matches with Dean's this semester. The only late class he has is religious studies on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”_

 _“There ya go_ Dean _. His affair won’t interrupt your time together.”_ Eileen signed and laughed.

 _“Anyway!”_ Sam interjected. _“How was the honeymoon? Where did yall end up going after all? I know you waited_ to _the last second to decide._ ” Sam asked and signed.

 _“Well, we went on a road trip in_ baby _.”_ Dean smiled proudly and put his arm around Castiel’s shoulders.

Sam rolled his eyes and picked up his wine glass. _“Seriously dude, you dragged your brand new husband all over the country in a car he spent forever in fixing for you?”_

 _“Hey! We saw a lot of stuff too!_ Right _Cas?”_

Castiel chuckled. _“Of course we did. It was an amazing trip. Besides Sam, the car has a very big back seat.”_ Castiel took a sip of his wine and Sam choked on his.

 _“Okay, dessert! I’ll go get it.”_ Sam jolted out of his seat, and a laughing Eileen followed him.

“Are you excited for your classes this year?”

“Of course,” Dean said turning to his husband. “I don’t know what I am more excited for though, the new course or my bee tie I’m wearing on the first day.”

“Oh please tell me you are joking. You are actually going to wear that?”

“Yes! I love bees!”

“Yuck, they are flying bugs with ass daggers. That is a whole lot of nope.”

Dean gave Castiel and leveled look. “Cas… I expla--”

“Oh my God!” Sam shouted from the other room.

Both men jump out of their seats and rush into the family room. Sam and Eileen stood stock still in front of the TV. Eileen had plates in her hands, but her concerned expression was all Dean needed to see. He took the plates out of her hands and she immediately began signing.

 

_“Is this that woman?”_

Dean and Castiel turned their attention to the TV. A reporter stood in front of a very familiar warehouse.

“Just a few months ago, the raid of the God Loves His Children summer camp was seen by people all over the country. The controversial owner, Garth Fitzgerald IV was arrested on a slew of charges as it was uncovered that the camp was using barbaric conversion therapy in attempts to ‘cure’ LGBTQ youths. He was let out on a bail, that many found too low for the accusations against him. There was never any proof of his crimes but people argued the sheer amount of suicides by the children that went to that camp should be enough to convict. The one child that did die at the camp, died from an allergic reaction. Fitzgerald walked and apparently it didn’t sit well with someone. Just last week, he was found butchered in his own home. There were signs of torture that had occured for hours and the local detectives are looking for suspects, but might not have to look far. Tonight, emergency personnel responded to an anonymous call. When they arrived on the scene, a local woman, Ruby Mal, who had been avoiding police for years was found butchered in a similar way to Fitzgerald. The police have offered no official connection but the similarities are startling. Along with Ruby Mal, a score of other bodies were found, though none as brutalized as Miss Mal. The survivors are being rushed to the nearest hospital for emergency care. Ruby Mal was the leader of a drug ring with connections all the way to Chicago The police ask if you have any information to please call--.”

Sam turned the volume down and sat down heavily on the couch.

Eileen and Dean sat on either side of him. “She’s dead....” Sam said in a haze.

“At least you have some closure.” Dean squeezed his brothers shoulder.

“Yeah… closure…” Sam started to bounce his knee and pick at his nails. “Sho--should I feel bad that...I’m happy?” Sam looked at the floor and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Not at all Sam,” Castiel stepped in, “she did horrible things to you, it is only natural to have such a reaction.”

“Yeah…”

Dean felt the tension in the room thicken. Shit this wasn’t supposed to upset him. “ _We will take a rain check on those desserts and get out of your hair.”_ Dean signed. _“And I will be bringing cupcakes. I don’t know how you people can stomach pie. Yuck._ ”

Sam chuckled softly and Eileen waved before hugging Sam and rubbing his back.

 _“Thanks for coming, Dean._ ”

Dean gave Sam a warm smile and Castiel waved before they gathered their things and saw themselves out.

“Can you drive, Cas?” Dean mumbled.

“Yeah, of course.” Castiel pulled out his copy of the key but paused before unlocking the door. “Dean?”

Dean looked at his husband across the hood of the car. “Don’t you dare feel bad. Sam’s reaction is on him. You did what you did for yourself, and if memory serves, you felt great afterwards.”

“But…”

“No, buts. Seeing her brought some bad memories back, he will be fine. He isn’t angry.”

“You promise?” Dean asked.

“I promise. Now let’s go home. We have files to go over.”

“Ooooh, can I pick this time?”

“Ugh, but…”

“Please, Cas!” Dean put on a mock pouty face that had Castiel laughing.

“Fine, fine. I get to kill the pedophile next week though.”

“Deal.” Dean blew a kiss at his husband before ducking into the passenger's seat.


End file.
